Earlier this week, I wound up telling someone something I'd never told anyone. I don't know if anyone has ever had any shred of an idea, but I know that it is something that I've been scared to admit for almost two decades.
To those who know me, they know that my father figure and I had a very unhealthy relationship -- he was a victim of the cycle of abuse, in the most simple of terms. His father beat him, and as such, he passed down that treatment onto me with the idea of "I was beaten when I was a kid." Part of this is the reason why I've never wanted kids. Part of this is the reason why I want nothing to do with children in all truth. I've seen brilliant little ones who I think would be tainted if I were to be too involved with their lives. They shine on their own. Why risk bringing them down?
To those who know me, they might know that I also don't have a good relationship with my grandfather. I think the fact that since I have left Dahlonega back in 2003, I've only seen my grandfather once proves that point. I don't know if anyone knows why.
That lies in the fact that when I was little, I wound up having to learn how to fight off an attacker from the once place a child should never have to -- inside my home.
My grandfather was meant to be a cheap live in baby sitter since my grandmother and father took random trips places (bank, grocery shopping, etc.) for hours and didn't take me. He was fairly new to the household. I was still fairly naive to everything that went on in the world. As a result I never anticipated my grandfather attempts at molesting me. I fought off enough to make it to my room where I was safe behind a locked door the first time.
He made an attempt a second time. I learned how to fight back that day. Some people know the story of how I wound up having to nail Thomas Wade in the crotch, but where I learned that came from the second attempt my grandfather made. He never made another attempt.
That should have been the end of it, but I never actually made the admittance to anyone. I begged for him to be evicted, but it never happened. Instead, I kept being told, "We need the money." He was allowed to stay because we needed the money for bills and the like. The one decent tenant we had stay never touched me, but out of fear of it happening, the guy was evicted. I wonder what would have happened if I had told what happened that day.
I have never told anyone any of this except for one person. I think I'm too scared of losing everyone and everything that I've gotten attached to because the cracks might be too apparent. The idea that I am so stained might be appalling to those around me. They might choose to desert the girl who was scarred in such a way. I know that those who are truly there in terms of friends won't, but I can't help but be scared.